Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3)
Read Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) Online
Authors: Elle Brooks
Empty Promises
Copyright © 2015 Elle Brooks ISBN: 978-0-9929888-4-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This work is registered with and protected by Copyright House & UKCS.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other-wise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book.
This book is not suitable for young readers.
It is intended for mature adults only (17+).
It contains moderate language, and some adult/sexual situations.
Table of Contents
Preview of
Drops of Rain
by Kathryn Andrews
Preview of
Falling Down
by Anne Mercier
What would you do if you knew when you were going to die?
Would you will death to come and claim you quickly?
Or would you pray for more time?
It wasn’t until I knew that I was about to die, that I decided to really live.
And it wasn’t until I gave up on love, that I finally found it.
Just not in any of the places that I’d been searching.
Sometimes you don’t get the fairytale happily ever after, but if you’re lucky, you get so much more.
You get a perfect beginning that you can keep hold of until the end.
For fans of
Promises Hurt
and
Forgotten Promises
,
who wanted to know more of Emily’s story, a novella prequel.
For those of you yet to read the Promises series, this novella can be read as a standalone.
I ONCE SAW a postcard in the mall that read: “We do not remember days. We remember moments.” It had a picture of two little girls walking away from the camera, holding hands. I bought it because it reminded me of my best friend, Blair. I’m looking at it now. The corners are curled at the edges and the sun, which shines directly on my notice board through my bedroom window, has bleached the picture. It looks almost vintage. I like it better this way.
I remember tacking it to the board and thinking that the postcard was true. Most of my memories are of specific moments in time, and although I can recall the events with virtually perfect clarity, I can’t place the dates. There are two exceptions though; two instances that have occurred, and I will forever remember those days. The moment I was diagnosed with Leukemia on August 16th, 2011, and the moment I was told it was terminal on June 2nd, 2013.
The postcard was wrong.
It lied to me, just like everyone in my life has since my first diagnosis.
My naïve, fifteen-year-old self believed the soothing words of encouragement. “You’re strong,” my parents said.
“You’re responding well to the chemotherapy,” the doctors told me. “Everything will work out just fine,” Blair promised.
My hardened, cynical eighteen-year-old self now knows better.
Wishing for something with all of your heart doesn’t make it happen. Not everyone is afforded a happily ever after. If my life were to be documented, it wouldn’t be the fairytale that we all dream our lives will be. No, mine would be a Shakespearian tragedy. I’m the protagonist who’s cloaked in doom and will ultimately die young, only having experienced unrequited love, empty promises and sadly, not a whole lot more.
I’M MAD.
No, scratch that.
I’m so far beyond mad that I can’t even see straight.
Dr. Zahn said that there are typically five stages of acceptance: denial, anger, bargaining, grieving … and finally, if you’re lucky, the acceptance phase. I spent all of last week, after the death sentence the hospital issued me, in stage one. I refused to accept their prognosis and begged for them to run more blood work. Facts are facts, though, and when your bone marrow is spitting out leukemic cells like water from a fire hose, there’s little anyone can do to stop the impending flood.
